


Each Fallen Robin

by paperbuildings



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, Rated: M for non-explicit sexual references, Unrequited Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbuildings/pseuds/paperbuildings
Summary: After a debacle at prom, he ends up in a motel room with her, but all he can picture is him.





	Each Fallen Robin

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ 05/08/2011, two days before Prom Queen, so it doesn't quite match canon. Revolves around Kurt/Dave, and Santana/Brittany to a lesser degree, but doesn't actually feature them. 
> 
> Original A/N from 05/08/2011: I was listening to Leonard Cohen and this just sort of... popped into my head. I cranked it out in under an hour, and it's probably not very good, but I'm posting it anyway.

He felt tears sting his eyes as he walked as fast as possible out of the McKinley gym, and the next thing he knew he was pulling into the parking lot of some seedy motel a few miles away.

She pushed him back towards the bed, and his knees buckled as they pressed against the rough polyester bedspread. He thought about the other people who would be here tonight, doing the same thing he was about to do. How many of them would regret it in the morning, the way he surely would? Would this be the first time for any of them, the same way it was for him? He tried to calm his rapid breath when she finally spoke to him. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I've been down this street before. I don't want to get halfway through this just to have you puss out and run crying home to mommy."

"I'm fine," he said, sounding anything but.

"You sound really sure," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Okay, now, lay back."

"I- Um- Okay..." he stuttered. He felt like his heart was about to fly out of his chest. He kept picturing the way it looked in old Warner Brothers cartoons, the shape of a valentine stretching out against the fur of some woodland creature, He knew it wasn't beating for the thrill of what was about to happen, that it was strictly out of fear, and premature regret. He was here, and he couldn't turn back now. He could not, as she'd so delicately put it, _puss out_. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His stomach churned with that sick feeling he got before he pushed someone into a locker or threw a slushie into someone's face. That sick feeling of knowing he was about to make a mistake. The knowing. And he always knew.

He felt the button of his pants open, and he heard the sound of the zipper slide down. The sound made him feel sick and sad. He opened his eyes, still making sure not to look her in the eye. "Can- Can you turn on the radio?" he asked timidly.

"Fine! Better for me if I don't have to listen to you anyway." He listened as static rattled through the speakers of the clock radio by the headboard, then overtaken by the end of "Hold On Loosely" by 38 Special. "Better?" she asked, sounding put off by the whole ordeal. He knew she was. The two of them had more in common than he'd ever thought they would have. They were both in this relationship to help them hide from the truth. She was probably feeling the same sick feeling he was. She was just a little more used to it.

"Yeah," he responded.

"Okay then. Now, close your eyes, make a wish, and blow," she said.

"What?"

"Just talking to myself," she sighed.

"O-oh. Okay. Sorry, I-"

"Listen, do you wanna do this or not?"

This was it, his final out, but he was already in too deep. Maybe, just maybe, people were right. Maybe he was just confused because he was never with a woman. Maybe once he went through with it, he'd never feel the way he felt again. He knew in his heart that this was bullshit, but god, he just wished it was true. "Y-yeah. Yes. Yes, I want to do this."

"Alright," she said, not wasting any time. He felt the pants of his rented tuxedo slide down his legs. The cheap imitation silk of her 80 dollar prom dress side down his leg as she tugged on his pants, now resting at his ankles. As he felt it brush against him, it caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

She moved on to his Jockeys, and his naked skin felt cold against the bedspread. He took an empty gulp as he listened to the radio announcer wish the McKinley High students a safe and happy prom before moving on to a soft acoustic song he immediately knew.

_I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel you were talking so brave and so sweet giving me head on the unmade bed while the limousines wait in the street..._

He began to picture him singing, the one he truly wished to be here with, the boy to whom he relinquished his crown. His voice was higher than the one on the radio, but he didn't care. He knew him, and he knew he could pull it off. He could pull of anything. As he pictured this, he felt her lips close around him, and he imagined they were his. Even though she was a girl, and one he knew was incredibly beautiful, he couldn't help but think that his would still feel even softer against his skin. That if it were him, it would, somehow, feel infinitely better.

_Those were the reasons and that was New York we were running for the money and the flesh And that was called love for the workers in song probably still is for those of them left..._

His hand reached up and clenched at the red flower pinned to his lapel. He pulled it off and squeezed it in his hand, and as he did so he felt the safety pin on the back pierce his skin. He felt the warmth of blood spilling from the small laceration in the palm, and he softly, slowly, unfurled his hand, letting the red rose fall to the floor.

_Ah but you got away, didn't you babe you just turned your back on the crowd you got away, I never once heard you say I need you, I don't need you I need you, I don't need you and all of that jiving around..._

Her hands slid, pushing up the shirt and tie, and he gasped as more of himself was revealed.

"Stop!"

"Ugh, dammit! Here we go."

"No, just..." He paused as the song continued to bounce off the walls around them. "Just listen to the song."

_I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel you were famous, your heart was a legend You told me again you preferred handsome men but for me you would make an exception And clenching your fist for the ones like us who are oppressed by the figures of beauty you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind, we are ugly but we have the music"_

His mind lingered on the third line of the verse. _You told me again you preferred handsome men_. He couldn't help it. He felt his eyes well up again, and tears rolled down the side of his face as he opened his eyes and started at the fan spinning on the ceiling.

"Oh my god, Nancy! Are you crying?"

"You don't wanna be here," he said. He only just noticed that his hand was on his head, rubbing around and searching for a bald spot, he assumed. "You don't wanna be here anymore than I do."

"Sure I do. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here!" she said unconvincingly.

"No, you don't. You want to be with her, and I want to be with him, and this is all just bullshit!"

"With who?" she asked, sounding confused, but he was almost sure that she knew. She already knew everything else...

"You know who."

She sighed, and pushed her hair back behind her ears. He watched her face sink, just like his. "Pull your pants up," she said. She sat on the bed and leaned back next to him. He pulled his dress pants back up around his waist. He buttoned them, zipped them, and it didn't take him long to come back down again. "We're pathetic."

"Maybe..." he said. "But... Just listen to the song."

_And you got away, didn't you babe, you just turned your back on the crowd you got away, I never once heard you say, I need you, I don't need you I need you, I don't need you and all of that jiving around..._

"Do you love him?" she asked. The question took him by surprise, but he didn't even have to think about the answer.

He looked over at her, and he saw the same sadness in her that festered in him. For some reason, his hand just seemed to involuntarily close around hers. Two people, a relationship born out of blackmail, now knew more about each other than anyone else in their lives. "What do you think?"

"I think we're both pathetic," she said, and he saw that tears were now rolling down her cheeks as well.

"Maybe," he sniffled. "But... Just listen to the song."

_I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best I can't keep track of each fallen robin I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel that's all, I don't even think of you that often …_


End file.
